the cove

Something was out there on the lake, just barely

visible in the dark.

I knelt and stared, trying to make it out,

trying to mark



its position relative to mine,

and the picturesque willow, the moon-silvered diving board

on the opposite shore. I listened hard

but heard



no sound from it, although I cupped one ear

as I knelt in the cove,

wondering how far I should take this, if I should seek

someone to row out there with me. Yet it didn't move



or grow darker or lighter. Most shapes,

you know what they are:

a rock-garden serpent, a house in the mist, a man's head,

an evening star,



but not this one. Whatever was out there kept changing

from large to small.

The mass of a wooden coffin surfaced,

then the head of an owl,



a tree limb, a window, a veil -

I couldn't resolve it. I ran one hand through my hair

as I stood up, shrugging. I had just turned fifty

and whatever it was that might be floating there



I didn't want it to be. Too much before

that came unbidden into my life

I'd let take me over. I knelt again and stared again.

Something was out there just beyond the cove.







- Dick Allen